


Listening, Later

by Verlaine



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Multi, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-23
Updated: 2011-09-23
Packaged: 2017-10-23 23:52:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verlaine/pseuds/Verlaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's become a tradition to gather at Hutch's house on the anniversary of Starsky's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Listening, Later

Hutch generally lets Starsky's kids fuss over him. He really doesn't need it, but it's nice to be the focus of loving attention. And of course he can't say no, even when he wants to, because they're Starsky's, and just like their old man they never give up.

So he lets Mick take him to doctors' appointments and help clean the gutters and turn over the garden. Lisa brings hot dishes and baking now and then, and does the windows and the vacuuming. And Andy, Andy who could be his own son—tall, thin, blond, earnest, all his mother, without a trace of Starsky in him—Andy comes over to play chess and listen to Hutch ramble on about the old days.

(Hutch refused to let Starsky and Rosey name either of the boys after him: he's always been a bit uncomfortable with Kenneth, and Starsky knew better than to even suggest Richard.)

It's been three years since Starsky died, and the kids have woven Hutch ever more tightly into their family, especially Lisa, who has clung to him as a substitute father, occasionally so tightly as to be painful. Sometimes it hurts him beyond words; there are days he can barely stand to be around any of them. The loss he feels so keenly is seldom eased by their affection and caring. More often it's salt in a wound that has never healed.

He feels ungrateful and deceitful, and can't help it.

***

Rosey never talks about the day Starsky died. If he hadn't been at the hospital with them—summoned by a frantic call from Mick—he wouldn't have known anything. The doctor had been calm and blunt.

A massive heart attack.

Nothing that could have been done. Nothing that would have made a difference, even if Starsky had been in the hospital when it happened.

Hutch isn't sure he believes that, though he knows it's what the others need to hear. He can't help remembering another time when Starsky's heart stopped, so many years ago. Would it have given Starsky that one little boost of strength he'd needed this time, if it had been Hutch by his side instead of Rosey?

***

It's become a tradition to gather at Hutch's house on the anniversary of Starsky's death. Rosey and the kids, Huggy and Joan and theirs, Dobey, grey and frail since Edith passed, Minnie and Simmons and Baylor and whoever else from the old group who's still around. There's pizza and root beer, of course, and stories of daring arrests and crazy car chases. There's laughter and tears, really bad jokes and loving reminiscences. Sometimes they can persuade Hutch to play some Jim Croce on the guitar. (Everyone knows better than to ask for Black Bean Soup.)

While he appreciates their feelings for Starsky, Hutch is always grateful when they finally go and leave him in peace with his memories.

This evening has been the same as the past three, no worse but not any better either. The old friends have come and gone, shared food and memories, strength and pain. Hutch can tell that time is healing them, even as he still feels the loss like a physical ache, as if death had to literally gouge a piece out of him in order to take Starsky.

Gradually, by ones and twos, people trickle away until it's only Hutch and Rosey left, sitting on the porch overlooking the garden. Even the kids have gone, Andy proudly flashing his new driver's license as he chauffeurs his brother and sister home. Rosey's had a couple of vodka coolers, more than she usually drinks, and seems tense, almost angry.

When she puts the bottle down, it raps hard against the porch floor, reminding Hutch of a gavel in the hand of a frustrated judge.

"I've never told you." Her voice is strained but determined. "What happened that morning, I mean."

"You don't have to." As often as he's wondered over the years, when faced with it Hutch isn't sure he can bear to hear it.

"I haven't tried to hide anything on purpose," Rosey goes on as if she hadn't heard. She tries to pick up her drink, but bobbles it, and the remnants of the cooler spill onto the porch. "It just never seemed like the right time, you know? And today I thought, if I don't say something tonight, there won't ever be a right time."

"You don't have to," Hutch repeats. He can smell the sickly-sweet artificial fruit and the bite of alcohol, and it makes him feel ill. "For some things there isn't a right time."

"We were just getting up," Rosey says. "He hadn't been feeling good the night before, kept complaining he had heartburn. He didn't sleep well, either. He got up a couple of times, and he was restless even when he did get some sleep.

"When I saw his face in the morning, I knew something was really wrong. He was pale, and he'd been sweating a lot. I asked how he felt, and he tried to laugh. You know what he was like."

Hutch nods. Yes, he knew, better than her, he wants to say.

"He said he figured you might be right, he might have abused his gall bladder too long after all. Then—" her voice breaks off.

"Rosey," Hutch says. "Rosey, stop, please. Don't."

She shakes her head fiercely. "Yes, yes, it's time. He laughed, and then he grabbed at his chest. I could see—oh God, Hutch, I knew, I could see right then what it was.

"He sort of gasped, like all his breath was just gone, and then he said, "Tell Hutch." And that was it. He kind of collapsed on the pillows.

"And he was gone."

Suddenly she's pounding at his chest and shoulders with her small fists, swearing at him in a hoarse choked voice Hutch barely understands.

"You son of a bitch, you son of a bitch, his last word was you! His last thought was you! Always fucking _you_!"

Hutch lets her rant and holds her when she breaks down crying. He pats her back and makes awkward sounds of comfort. Eventually the tears stop and she apologizes, says she was just upset and didn't mean it. Says she always accepted that Starsky was his best friend, and that there was a special place for him in Starsky's heart that nobody else could touch.

Hutch says it's okay.

It isn't, of course, and it never has been. Hutch spent what he figures was over half his life in love with Starsky, and just as long hiding it. He'd put together an undercover persona that over the years had only slipped a few times, when he was hurting or sick or utterly desperate. And Starsky, bless his trusting heart, had never seen through it. Maybe because Hutch had worn it so long it didn't seem like an undercover at all.

Hutch had hidden his rage and jealousy about Rosey coming back into Starsky's life. He'd hidden his anguish at their marriage, even while he stood up as Starsky's best man. He'd hidden his grief at the birth of each child, even while he'd loved them because they were Starsky's. Hated the birth of each child that took Starsky further and further away. That emphasized each time what Starsky was and what Hutch was not.

What Hutch wanted and could never have.

***

Tell Hutch.

He's been thinking all day about those last words.

Tell him what?

I love you?

Take care of Rosey and the kids?

Something completely unrelated to anything, some synapse misfiring in the last conscious moment, and bringing up memories of a case thirty years old?

Only one way to find out.

Hutch takes a pull on the vodka bottle, and swallows the first of the pills.

"Hey, Starsk," he says quietly. "I'm listening."


End file.
